Yesterday it rained cats and dogs (or pocket knives, as the Portuguese say) all day long. On the one hand, I was surprised, because I’ve learned to expect rain squalls here, not 24-hour downpours. On the other hand, I was deliciously nostalgic, because rain like that feels like home.
I taught Pilates, and walked from my car to the studio in a drenching rain. Walking in the rain, rather than dashing through it, is a hallmark of Oregon coast residents. We learn the futility of running and so choose to preserve our dignity instead — and, I think, our cool factor. “We’re coasties, we don’t run in the rain.”
Of course, this attitude only works when you’re wearing a good quality raincoat. Mine used to be. But when I took it off in the studio, my shirt was wet. Huh? From just three minutes in the rain? I knew it wasn’t up to an hour-long exposure anymore, but…three minutes?
It got wetter yet on my way back to the car an hour later, and when I arrived home and hung it over a kitchen chair to dry, I suddenly realized why. Looking at the jacket against the light from the veranda doors revealed large areas of translucence, where the fabric of the jacket has worn down to its last few molecules of thickness. It looks fine in direct light, but when light shines through it, the degradation is obvious.
My formerly-waterproof jacket is Swiss cheese. Crap. That was not planned for this month’s budget, and we’ve got a trip to London coming up soon.
I don’t suppose I can count on it not raining in London in early April?